Bedside Manners
by Melira
Summary: Dick proves to be quite resourceful when showing that Bruce is not the only one getting protective over his partner. One-shot.


There were more of them than even Batman had anticipated. When word had reached him that two of Gotham's most influential gangs had joined forces, he had hardly believed it. Seeing that usually both groups fought each other literally to death it seemed questionable they should suddenly have found a common goal. But the thirty armed goons closing in on Robin and him made pretty clear what was going on. They had teamed up to get rid of their shared foe once and for all. The enemy of your enemy really was your friend, it seemed. They had every intention of killing the Bat and the small Bird accompanying him. And chances were, they would succeed.

"Robin, abort mission", Batman growled lowly so only his partner could hear him. There were too many of the thugs, fighting them would be suicide.

"Copy that", came the immediate reply. The boy's voice betrayed no fear he might have felt. The circle of vicious looking men was only yards away, every one of them armed, many carrying guns. They came from all sides and hadn't the Dynamic Duo still been standing beneath the sky light they had entered through, the situation would have been rather desperate.

Simultaneously, Batman and Robin took out their grapple guns and fired skywards. An instant later, the whirring noise of the gadgets' mechanisms sounded and both vigilantes were pulled upwards.

The men beneath them started shouting, clearly not willing to let their pray go. Once the hunted had become the hunter, the taste of blood was too sweet to let it go again.

The deafening noise of a shot being fired echoed through the huge space they were in, instantly followed by a scream. The scream of a boy. Out of the corner of his eye, Batman saw the rope of his partner's grapple gun snap, the bullet had cleanly dissected it. For only the fracture of a second did he wonder why the man had aimed so high or if he was just a horrible shot before it came to him. They didn't just want to kill Robin, they wanted to torture him first.

Without hesitation, he pressed the button that cut off his own line and let himself fall to the ground. He landed on one of the men and knocked him down. The others were on him in moments.

Ignoring them the best he could, Batman crouched next to the boy who was lying unconsciously on the floor, a gash on his forehead. One of the goons was standing over him, a bloodied club in his hands. Rage clouded Batman's vision and he threw a flash grenade to keep him and the others at bay. In the same motion, he bent down and hoisted Robin up over his shoulder. Getting out of there was the only thing on his mind. There was no way he could fight all those men outgunning him while protecting his injured partner. Retreat – fast retreat – was the only option if he wanted them to survive.

Holding Robin with his left arm, he used his right to violently punch two more men and thereby send them staggering into their comrades before firing a new line from his grapple gun. The moment his feet left the ground, a sharp pain flashed in his right thigh. He didn't look down, concentrating on their way out, but experience told him a knife was embedded in his leg. One of the men must have thrown it in a last attempt to stop them and while failing in that regard, he still succeeded in severely hindering Batman in his movements. The pain was considerable and there was blood trickling down his leg. He just hoped the man hadn't hit the femoral artery.

Landing on the roof and running across it, he felt Robin stir a little and relief washed over him. At least the boy wasn't seriously injured.

Still carrying his partner, Batman reached the edge of the roof, the Batmobile hidden in the shadows of the dark alley beneath. The fastest way to get down there was to jump and he shortly debated leaving the knife stuck in his thigh were it was probably stemming the bleeding. But the risk of jostling the blade was too great, there was no knowing what further damage it could do. If it severed a nerve, there was the possibility of losing some of the leg's function, and that he couldn't risk.

Clenching his teeth, he gripped the knife's handle and pulled it out. The pain was surprisingly bearable but instantly the amount of blood streaming down his leg increased notably. He cursed under his breath. Obviously, a major artery had been hit after all. But there was no time to tie the leg off, the flash grenade's effect on the thugs was about to wear off any second now. If they came after them, it would be near impossible to fight them and get away at the same time. Not with Robin still out of it.

Hoping, he could get back to the cave fast enough, Batman jumped down from the thankfully rather low roof onto some crates stashed underneath it and from there onto the asphalt below. He put the only partially conscious Robin in the Batmobile's passenger seat as fast as possible and climbed behind the steering wheel himself. Already, he could feel the blood loss taking its toll on his body, his vision began to swim and he felt dizzy.

Forcing himself to keep going no matter what, he started the engine and drove out of the alley while simultaneously hitting the button that would contact Alfred and alert him there was need for his immediate help upon their return.

Next to him, Robin shifted in his seat and groaned. Batman dared diverting his fading concentration from the road and onto the boy. He earned sluggish blinking and a confused glance at him and the surroundings.

"What happened?" The boy's articulation was a bit slurred.

"They cut your line, you fell, I got us out of there." Although as short as possible, Batman heard his own voice fading with every word. It became harder to stay focused by the second. To stay conscious.

He vaguely felt the boy perk up next to him.

"Batman, what is it?" There was alarm in Robin's tone and more than just a bit of worry.

He wanted to answer, wanted to reassure his partner but found it impossible. His eyes, trained on the street before him, rapidly lost their focus. He saw the blackness from the edges of his vision creep in until it was the only thing left. He fought to stay awake but knew it was a battle already lost.

The last thing Batman heard before losing consciousness was Robin's frantic voice calling out his name.

* * *

It was silent but for the steady beeping noise somewhere near his left ear. A very persistent noise, immediately grating on his nerves. And there was light shining even through his closed eyelids. A cold, bright light. It didn't need the antiseptic smell for Bruce to realise where he was. It was far from being his first time of waking in the Batcave's infirmary without knowing exactly how he had ended up there. Alfred probably was furious about whatever Batman had gotten himself into this time to deserve bed rest due to unconsciousness.

Bruce slowly opened his eyes, blinking against the assaulting light. It took a moment to see clearly and by the time he had spotted the butler to his left, Alfred had already seen his employer regaining consciousness.

"How are you feeling, Master Bruce?" There was just the tiniest bit of worry in the old man's voice – a clear sign, Bruce had scared him with his condition, otherwise the seasoned butler would never have let his feelings show.

Bruce thought about it for a second, trying to listen to his body.

"Just a little dizzy and ..." His voice trailed off as he saw what caused the peculiar sensation on his half-numbed right side. Dick was lying pressed against him in the small space between Bruce's body and the pulled-up bed rail. Confused, Bruce looked at his butler once more while checking the other side of his bed. There was decidedly more space there than on his right, even enough for the boy to lie there without needing the rail to keep him from falling out.

Alfred interpreted his confused glance correctly. "I only left for a minute to see Dr Thompkins out and when I returned, Master Dick had abandoned his own bed in favour of yours."

"Is he alright?" Instantly, Bruce was worried and tried to get a look at the sleeping form of his ward. If the boy had been assigned his own bed in the infirmary, something must have been wrong with him. And Alfred's implication that their family doctor had been required did nothing to calm him.

"He is", Alfred assured him. "Just a mild concussion, a small wound on his forehead and a slightly sprained ankle."

Bruce took a breath to steady his heartbeat that had momentarily sped up.

"What happened?", he asked. His mind was still too fuzzy to remember any details.

"I am afraid I can not be entirely certain on that account, sir", the butler said. "I first got alerted by your signal to await your arrival and be prepared to assist in any medical needs. Five minutes later, Master Robin contacted me, saying Dr Thompkins was needed as well."

Bruce wrecked his brain trying to remember sending a signal to Alfred, but came up blank.

The older man continued. "When the Batmobile arrived, I was surprised to find Robin steering the vehicle while sitting on your lap."

Now, Bruce's confusion was complete. "Why would he do that? He knows there's an override for the consoles. He's steered the Batmobile from the passenger's seat before."

Alfred ignored the comment and continued his recount of events. "The boy appeared to be relatively fine, sir, but refused to leave his position at first. After taking a closer look it became obvious you were bleeding rather extensively. Dr Thompkins' examination later revealed a deep knife wound to your thigh."

"And Robin had had no other way of stemming the bleeding while getting us back here, but sitting on the wound", Bruce concluded. While his memory was still hazy on the details, the general outline of events slowly came back to him. He remembered a sharp pain in his leg and pulling a knife out of it. Then there was only the vague recollection of driving the Batmobile followed by complete darkness.

"It appears so, sir. Rather clever, if I may say so."

Bruce looked appraisingly at the boy curled against him. He was tempted to tousle his hair but refrained from doing so, not wanting to wake him. "You may."

"He only left you when Doctor Thompkins arrived", the butler continued, "and it took me quite a bit of convincing to get him out of his costume and into the shower."

Bruce chuckled fondly. He could very well imagine that, he knew how Dick could get. And he couldn't even blame him, seeing how protective he himself was over his ward and partner.

"Dr Thompkins performed a minor surgery on your cut femoral artery and provided blood transfusions before she had to leave for an emergency at the Clinic. She asked me to give you her best wishes and to tell you to be more careful. I had to promise her to deliver the message."

Bruce smiled. "I'll call her later to thank her."

The butler nodded approvingly before continuing the story. "After having cleaned up, Master Dick refused to leave your side again. We only just got him to stay in his bed." Bruce followed Alfred's small gesture with his eyes to an unmade hospital bed left of him. "When both of you were properly cared for, I walked Dr Thompkins out. Upon my return, I found Master Dick's bed empty and yours overly occupied." A small smile grazed the butler's lips, only visible to Bruce because he had known the older man for most of his life.

Finally, Bruce gave in to the urge of placing a hand on the boy's shoulder. He carefully put it down as not to wake him and earned a small movement, when Dick snuggled closer against his side.

Only at the dull throbbing the additional contact caused in his wounded but anaesthetized leg did Bruce finally understand why the boy had chosen the narrower side of the bed. He was lying next to his guardian's injured leg, instinctively trying to shield it from further harm.

The butler had obviously seen Bruce finally making the connection and nodded contentedly at the younger man, before leaving the room to its two perfectly cared for occupants.


End file.
